


34

by avecstylinson



Category: No Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 18:44:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avecstylinson/pseuds/avecstylinson





	34

She ran to get away. She ran to the same place every day. About two miles from her house, a dock. It stretched out onto the small creek, in the small town she and her small-minded classmates grew up in. One day she was sick of running.   
She ran to the dock, touched every leaf of the trees on the bank. She counted the panels on the dock, 34 like always. She kept her head down as she picked up a small rock and threw it across the bank, like always. She admired the way the water flowed, smoothly thru each rock. The beauty of this creek is what kept her fighting for three years. Knowing that this was the last time seeing this creek, she was getting a bit sentimental. She walked a bit slower than usual.   
She then ran to the first stop on her list, the house of her best and only friend. She slipped the crisp white envelope with his name on the front into his mailbox. He probably wasn’t home, off with his new girlfriend who is so much prettier than the girl could ever hope to be.   
She ran next to the grocery store, her black trainers beating away at the blacktop. She plucked the second envelope out of her pocket, this one containing all the money she had ever earned. She went up to the cashier, an old man who she found out that got laid off. She handed him the envelope with a smile, but turned and walked away before he could react. She wanted something good to come out of her decision.   
She ran to her last stop, ponytail whipping behind her. The salon where she had got her hair cut ever since she could remember. She smiled at the stylist, before asking her to chop off her ponytail. She handed her the last envelope, containing all she wanted to thank the stylist for and asking her to donate her beloved locks.   
She ran to the place where it would happen. The bridge that ran over the thicker part of the creek. There were almost no cars driving along this part of the road normally, and today there were none. She wanted it to be that way. She stood on the edge of the bridge, and climbed across the guardrail. With shaking legs, she flung herself off the bridge. She was done. Done with being made fun of. Done with running.   
The people that bullied her fake cried over her death, the people that ignored her claimed they loved her. Her family barely even mourned. The only one that truly felt the loss of her death was her best friend.   
The note he had received had said in the plainest of terms what her intent was. He grieved for the loss of his friend, but not for long. His own sadness became too much too handle. He ran. And ran. Until he couldn’t run anymore. He collapsed 34 miles from where started. He never stood up again.


End file.
